


First for Everything

by Admin Cock (Admin_Cock)



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games), Red Dead Redemption Online - Fandom
Genre: Body Worship, Claiming Bites, Drunken Flirting, Drunken Kissing, F/M, Gunshot Wounds, Love Bites, M/M, Morning After, Other, Thunderstorms, a garbage man falling for a bloodthirsty outlaw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-12 16:21:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18450221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Admin_Cock/pseuds/Admin%20Cock
Summary: There's always a first for everything, and you've given Joe many firsts.





	First for Everything

The first time Joe saw you was through the window of the cabin he’d inhabited.

It was pitch black outside, a thunderstorm roared like some sort of bloodthirsty beast with the wind and rain clawed at the front door, fighting to come in and pounce upon the lone man. Lighting flashed periodically, giving a few seconds of brightness to the darkness along with the growl of thunder. The solitary man paid the storm no mind, simply cleaning his gun and smoking a cigarette in the light of his single candle. Yes, there was fireplace in the cabin, but it was too late now to attempt to start a fire. The woodpile outside was surely soaked through and there was no way he was going to waste perfectly good matches on a fire when the candle did him justice.

At some point, Joe set aside his gun and rag to lean back in his chair and listen to the world outside. That was when it heard it. At first he thought it was a distant roar of thunder, but then it grew louder, and then he realized that thunder didn’t have such a steady beat. Quickly grabbing up his shotgun from the table once more and snuffing out the candle, the wary man approached the window, peeking outside as best he could and fighting to make his eyes focus on the shapes in the darkness. Just as he could make out the treeline just across the small yard, another flash of thunder lit up the land and revealed the silhouette of a figure atop a massive horse. The brief glimpse he was given had no distinctive features of whoever the rider was, but nonetheless, they appeared as chilling as a harbinger of death. The man inside knew he was wanted. His arrest warrant was based on lies and falsehoods weaved up by enemies whom he’d once known as brothers, and if the person outside had been sent by them, he wasn’t about to go down without a fight.

The first time Joe saw your face was in a flash of light, with your gun almost down his throat.

Ducking down from the window, the outlaw made sure he was out of sight and listened closely as the person outside brought their mount to the small fenced area beside the house. The locked side door rattled. They clearly wanted in. Thunder rumbled again and the man’s finger twitched on the trigger of his gun, ready to blast the stranger in the face as they entered. The front door blew open from the force of the wind, the figure took no more than two steps in before Joe leapt up, gun pointed at them and a snarl on his face.

Both of those quickly disappeared though, because this stranger was clearly a more aggressive outlaw than he. In the blink of an eye, the sawed-off shotgun was knocked across the cabin and a cocked revolver was shoved past his lips into his mouth. The taste of gun smoke filled his mouth, and a pang of fear rested in his chest as his eyes went wide. Lightning struck outside the open door as his wide eyes found the figure’s face, and he was met with a set of rage-filled eyes burning straight into his soul from under a wide brimmed hat. You were dressed head to toe in black, and despite the fact you were soaked with rain, the scent of fresh blood rolled off you in waves.

You didn’t say a word as you looked around the small cabin, your eyes clearly in better shape and more adjusted to the darkness than the man at the business end of your gun. Above the main area, you spotted the broken ladder up to the loft where you could only assume a bed was. Your dark gaze flicked back to the man whose home you’d so rudely entered, slowly removing the gun barrel from his mouth as you walked across the room. Joe didn’t say a word, only realizing he’d raised his hands out of instinct when you motioned him towards the door, a silent command to close it behind you. He watched from the door as you climbed up to the loft, listening with heavy breaths as you removed what sounded to be your boots and gun belt before settling into the available mattress with a deep sigh. After several moments, once the sound of your soft snores filled the empty cabin, Joe returned to his spot at the table, simply sitting in the darkness and deciding he wasn’t about to threaten the person who’d swiftly given him a brief taste of death.

The first time Joe saw your face in the light, he was sure it would be the last.

The harsh groan of the broken ladder is what woke the man, having fallen asleep at the table during the night. The storm had died down quite a bit, though the patter of rain still fell upon the roof in the early dawn light. Not even the birds were awake, yet there you were, coming down from the perch you’d made yourself for the night.

Joe stared at you in silence, blinking the sleep out of his eyes and watching as you readjusted the belt hanging around your hips. Your clothes were mostly dry but still as black as the night, the scent of blood no longer as strong. Hat in hand, you finally lifted it back to your head, fingers tugging at the brim but stopping for a moment to stare back at the half awake man. Even now, that burning intensity still lingered in your gaze and was enough to make him lean back in his chair as you glared him down.

You seemed to give him a quick once over before tugging the brim of your hat down to shield your face, shoving a thumb under your belt and lumbering out of the cabin without a single word. Curiosity burned within the man left behind, though he partly hoped this would be your only encounter.

The first time you returned to Joe’s cabin, he offered you a job.

It was another dark evening when the familiar pounding of hooves approached the cabin. There wasn’t time to stand and look out the window this time, for as soon as the sound of hooves ceased the door was pushed open and you walked in once more. It had been a few weeks but your change of attire hadn’t changed a bit. The only possible change Joe spotted was a gleaming golden gun at your hip, but he didn’t allow himself to focus too long on it as you stepped farther into his hideout. Still, not a word left your lips, and still your eyes burned with a fierce emotion, but the silence was filled with his voice now.

“So, you lookin’ for work? ‘Cause I’ve got something, or rather some _one_ that needs taken care of. It’ll be bloody, but I get the feelin’ you don’t mind gettin’ your hands dirty.”

He took the slight motion of your hand as confirmation that you were willing to listen to his demands, and a small, twisted smirk crossed his face as he began to explain the deal. He sent you out after some of the people who’d signed his death warrant, and though he didn’t expect much, you performed above and beyond his expectations. Within a day’s time, you returned to his cabin with all their weapons and the contents of their pockets and saddlebags in hand, laying it all out on the table for him to admire.

His hands spread over the table, wide-eyed at the small pile of goodies you’d brought him as proof of your handiwork. Your head tilted slightly in a nod and deep, rough laughter tore from the depths of his chest. Pulling a fair amount of money from a lock box at his feet, Joe willingly handed over your payment and watched you thumb through it as you walked back out into the forest. You were an odd character, alright, but he couldn’t deny that there was something about you and how you behaved that he liked.

The first time Joe didn’t have a job for you, you’d brought him a gift.

Despite the fact that you never showed up at a regular time or day, your visits were fully expected now. Joe had even gone out hunting on his own at one point, and when he returned he found you waiting inside the cabin, hat over your face and boot-clad feet propped up on the table. You were a person of dubious morals who enjoyed the thrill of the chase and savored the blood on your hands, but with how well you performed on every job you were sent out on the isolated man could truly care less about your background and hidden agenda.

Unfortunately, you did your job so well, that Joe was a big nervous to see what you’d do on your next arrival once he told you he had no current work for you. As if simply thinking about it summoned you like some sort of demon out of the wind, the recognizable silver coat of your Turkoman flashed by the window before you entered the cabin, a large box in tow. You didn’t hesitate to come in closer, the man clearing his throat and parting his lips to tell you the news before you did something you’d never done in his presence before.

You spoke.

Just as the heavy box was freed from your gasp and placed at the floor near his feet, you spoke in a simple, calm tone.

“Cost an arm so don’t go through it in a week.”

There was no time for him to question what any of you said meant before you were gone again, truly coming and going like the wind. Honestly, he wasn’t even sure if he heard the thudding of horses hooves as you left this time, but Joe wasn’t a man who believed in spooks, so he ignored it and instead focused on the wooden crate at his feet. Was it explosives? A dangerous creature that would attack and kill as soon as he opened the top? There was only one way to find out. Using his knife, Joe wedged the nails loose on the lid until he could pry it off, and what he saw made his eyes widen and mouth water.

Somehow, someway, you’d brought the man an entire case of what was considered to be a rich man’s whiskey.

The first time Joe got to know you, he wouldn’t remember what he’d said to you.

Your visits became more frequent after that, and while you didn’t speak often, you did talk now. It wasn’t anything worth a deep conversation but at least it didn’t feel like he was talking to a brick wall anymore. Jobs were more evenly spaced considering the frequency of your arrivals now, but instead of disappearing when there was no work to be had, Joe found himself in the presence of your company for a while. You’d sharpen your knife, clean your guns, have a short nap or simply smoke a cigarette or two before leaving, all the while fully aware of the man sneaking looks at you.

Eventually, you called him out on it as you lit a cigar one afternoon.

“You think I don’t know you’re starin’?”

Joe jerked out of shock, his knee slamming into the bottom of the table and making a poor attempt to cover up how startled he was by having a faux coughing fit. Lit cigar clenched between your teeth, you tilted your hat up and look in his direction, meeting his gaze with your steely eyes and silently enjoying the glimpse of fear you caught in them.

“I’ve been at this for a while, I can tell when people are starin’, when they’re whisperin’ about me over their drink and when they’re plannin’ on shankin’ me in the alley behind the saloon once I leave. You ain’t the most subtle of men, Joe.”

Taking a drag from your cigar, you waited for him to speak, watching him squirm under your scrutiny until he found the words.

“Can ya blame me? First time you come in here ya got a gun shoved halfway down my throat and now… heh… now you just come and go as you please and I still don’t know jack shit about ya.”

So, he was curious about you? Well, perhaps you could sate him, just a little.

“Pull out that whiskey box. I might have some information to share if you wet my whistle.”

Afternoon turned into evening, evening into pure darkness, and by now it was sometime so late in the night it could be considered early. Boisterous laughter rang out from the cabin lit by a single candle, whiskey bottles strewn about the floor as the two of you drank and shared stories. You spun tales about what you recalled of your youth, of past lovers you’d known, of jailhouses and prison breaks and of how you before the bloodthirsty killer Joe knew you as. You turned up the bottle you currently held, emptying its contents down your gullet as he spoke loudly.

“So you talk shit about all these lovers you’ve had, but you – _**hic**_ – you seriously expect me to believe you ain’t never been married or loyal to somebody?!”

You shook your head at him, a lopsided grin on your face. It was true. Never had a ring been on your finger, never had you laid with someone more than once. It just wasn’t in your nature to linger. Attachments were too risky, love was too dangerous, people were too easily manipulated into believing lies. Reaching down for another whiskey bottle, you expected the topic to be changed there, but apparently Joe wasn’t satisfied, and his hand darted out to wrap around your wrist. For once, when your eyes met, your gaze wasn’t harsh and steely, it was soft and confused. His expression was one of uncertainty for a second or two, before it grew into one of confidence as he spoke deeply.

“I’d be willin’ to change that.”

The first time Joe tasted you, it was mixed with the heavy flavor of whiskey.

You hadn’t realized the hand that wasn’t on your wrist had come up to cradle your neck until he used that leverage to pull you in closer as he leaned down to kiss you drunkenly. It was heated and fueled by alcohol, but you couldn’t help but moan and part your lips to kiss him back. He groaned into your mouth as your own free hand reached up and curled into his greasy hair, the pair of you almost attempting to devour one another.

Your mouths were hungry, your kisses even more. The mix of booze and desire flowing through your veins brought both of you to the floor, Joe pinning your hands down beside your head and using his knee to spread your legs to make room for himself between. Your hat was long forgotten by now is some corner of the room, the only thought on your mind being how wonderfully rough the man was with you and how distinct his flavor was under all that whiskey.

When his mouth seperated from yours, he liked away the strand of spit connecting you with a low chuckle, admiring the shock in your glazed eyes before leaning back down and pressing his face between your neck and shoulder. Oh, how he adored the sweet sounds you made while his lips and tongue danced over your skin. He felt himself grow excited at how you squirmed beneath him, crying out _because_ of him.

The first time Joe marked you, it was out of blind jealousy.

Your wonderful whimpers and gasps make something click inside his drunken mind. You had mentioned past lovers, he wasn’t the first to hear this, to see you like this. A growl vibrated in his throat, teeth pressing to the sensitive flesh just beneath your jaw. Joe wouldn’t confess it aloud, but he was a very possessive man, and right now, he considered you to be his. No one else was allowed to have you, to hear your sweet cries, to taste your skin.

Without thinking twice, the man’s teeth sank into your neck, making you whimper out his name and grip his hair tighter as he suckled and bit your flesh. You were _**his**_ , he wanted everyone who so much as glanced you way to know this. He didn’t dare pull back to see if there was a mark on your neck before he began a new one just below the initial spot. Once he was bored with the second, he swapped to the opposite side of your neck, leaving two more along the nape of your neck and one in the hollow of your collarbone.

Finally, he pulled back, licking his lips and admiring the marks he’d left on you until your hand cupped his face and forced him to meet your eyes. Something about the way you looked at him with those perfectly kiss bruised lips and flushed skin made the beast deep within him want to go wild. There was a caged animal wanted desperately to break free, to lay claim to your flesh and savor every moment. As if seeing the man’s with your own eyes, the three breathy words you uttered were the key to opening the beast’s cage.

“I want you.”

The first time Joe woke beside you, he lost his voice for a while.

He hadn’t a clue at how or when during the night you’d made it up into the loft, but as he rubbed the sleep form his eyes and yawned, he realized you were curled up to his side, both of you bare as the day you were born. Your hair was a messy halo about your face, you still sleeping face an expression of pure content, your skin glowing with warmth and the deep love bites he’d left upon your neck shining like stars upon your flesh.

Something inside the man went soft, something made his voice disappear and prevented him from leaving the bed. Instead, he found himself settling back down, resting with his elbow on a pillow and his chin in hand. He couldn’t stop staring at you, more thoughts than he could count rushing through his mind all at once. Eventually, something made him reach out, brushing his knuckles along your face with the tenderness of a newlywed man and watching your eyes finally flutter upon and focus on his face. A smile crossed your lips and you stretched a bit before pressing your face against his tattooed chest.

“Good morning.”  
  
“Mornin’, sweetheart.”

The first time Joe thought he loved you, he couldn’t bear it.

It had been a few weeks after that incident, with you still returning on a regular basis to pick up work and chat when there was time. Currently, it was a slow period between the days Joe knew you’d come. To keep himself busy he’d gotten a block of wood and had taken to carving it, albeit poorly. Despite the business of his hands, his mind couldn’t drift far from thoughts of you. He recalled how you’d looked, how you’d sounded, how you cried out for him that night. Then a thought rushed through his mind that made his knife slip and leave a clean slice on his thumb.

He was falling in love with you.

Shaking his head, the man pressed his bleeding thumb to his jeans, waiting for the blood to stop and squeezing his eyes shut. The stinging wound on his hand seemed to bring a stinging sensation to his face and ears, especially the longer he thought about the possibility of loving you.

He’d only cared for one woman before, a woman he didn’t even love, and she had been killed by his enemies. Love was painful, love wasn’t worth the effort. Even if you did love him, he couldn’t give you anything. He had nothing, this cabin wasn’t even his. Thinking about it more made the stinging worse and his ears began to ring.

He didn’t love you.

He _didn’t_ love you.

 _He didn’t love you_.

The first time you made Joe’s heart skip a beat, he couldn’t bear to let you go.

In a few weeks time, fall was beginning to come in. The first frost had laid on the ground days earlier and the trees were beginning to change their color. Something in the new crispness of the air brought a sense of dread to Joe, and when you came to the cabin one day without your coat and hat, he knew something was about to change.

You had to leave.

Something had happened.

He stood from his chair, clasping both your hands in his and dropping to his knees on the floor. You were the first person Joe had ever begged to. He pleaded for you not to leave, he desperately tried to learn who or what had hurt you so he could hunt it down and eliminate the problem that was making you leave his side. But you only shook your head, smiling fondly and slipping a hand out of his grasp to reach into your pocket. From within you retrieved a silver ring on a chain. It was a simple band, one that could have fit the man’s finger, but you’d rather let him take it off the chain himself once you were gone if he wished to wear it that way. Tenderly, you slipped the chain around his neck before cupping his cheek in your hand.

Joe wasn’t a man to cry, but what you told him before you walked out the door brought tears to his eyes and a skip in his heartbeat.

“I am yours, Joe. I will return to you. No matter how far apart we are, we’ll always be together.”

The first time Joe fell in love, it was with you.

And he regretted not telling you that before you left with the wind.

**Author's Note:**

> once again i am here to provide the garbage content for my fellow lovers of underrated and underrepresented garbage characters


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